Only Time Can Tell
by gundam06serenity
Summary: After the war, what would have happened if a certain pilot had no place to go? If his comrades had forgotten him? If he had been forced back into a life he had never wanted to begin with? Yaoi, various pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Only Time Will Tell

Title: Only Time will Tell

Author: Gundam06serenity

Rating: pg13-Nc17-- Edited for this site to temain pg13

Archive: gundam wing universe . net, mediaminer, adultfanfiction, fanfic

Pairings: You'll just have to wait and see

Warning: Slightly AU (set pre-endless Waltz, Endless Waltz & Preventors), Yaoi, Mentions of rape, possible mentions of abuse, Yuri mentioned briefly, slight OOC

Disclaimer: Neither Gundam Wing nor the characters from the show belong to me; I am just borrowing them for my entertainment. No money is made from this so please do not sue

Summary: After the war, what would have happened if a certain pilot had no place to go? If his comrades had forgotten him? If he had been forced back into a life he had never wanted to begin with? Yaoi, various pairings.

Author's notes: Please, please, please review! If there is anything you think could be improved, if there is anything here that you think does not fit, if there is anything in particular you'd like to try & see included within this fanfic, do not hesitate to ask via review I say via review because I cannot always check my email-though review or pm on Gaia online to ladyshi will both reach me much sooner. Thank-you & please enjoy reading my fic

Only Time Will Tell:

A Pilot

A Proposition

A Plan (t)

A Ploy

A Personal Proposition

A Plan Revealed

A Prudent Mistake

A Promise

A Present

A Preventor

A Place

A Plea

A Party

A Problem

Tbc

* * *

Only Time Can Tell

Prologue

_"Libra had been destroyed. Oz have surrendered. The war is over, repeat, the war is over."_

The voices of numerous newsreaders and reporters repeated in every language, announcing the good news to every corner of the Earth and Colonies alike, crackling over communicators, sounding loud and clear over radios, brightly-coloured looks of joy and disbelief, relief and grief showing on faces via vid-links.

People throughout the colonys' let out a cheer, their relief and joy overflowing, whilst others were free to finally let their tears fall for loved ones lost, finally able to grieve without fear. Soldiers, finally able to let their guard down, tears of joy and gratitude flowing, disbelief and grief in their eyes.

Relena Darlin-Peacecraft let out a sigh of relief, tears of joy flowing as she received a call from her lover, Dorothy Catolina, moments-long, heart-wrenching moments after the announcement, to let her know that she was alive, that she had not, like so many others, died for the cause in the final battle, letting her pacifist lover know that she had not lost all whom she held dear to her because of the war.

Quatre Raberba Winner, nearing unconsciousness, the lack of blood loss finally pulling at him, trying to drag him down into the depths of nothingness, allowed a small smile to grace his blue-tinged lips, satisfied that the fighting need not go on, that it was finally over. Aqua Marine eyes slid shut, smiling softly up at his lover, Trowa Barton, as strong, reassuring arms caught him, lifting him with ease, as the uni-banged boy carried his now unconscious lover to safety.

Heero Yuy cursed, furious. The image of his greatest rival and foe pushing him out of harms way, saving him, taking his place, playing over and over in his head. Zechs Marquise-no, Milliardo Peacecraft pushing him out of the way, saving his life; Epyon disintegrating before his eyes, as Peacemillion exploded, allowing him-forcing him to remain alive to be a part of the peace he had fought so long and hard to achieve.

Chang Wufei ranted, shouted and screamed, angry tears coursing down his cheeks as the remains of the Tallgease II drifted past him, around his gundam; Victory, revenge, his so-called justice not quite as sweet as he had imagined.

Noin watched silently as the man she had loved so completely, earned his redemption, making amends in what she assumed to be the last few seconds of his life.

Sally Po, turned tear-filled, deep blue eyes away from the large screen, heart pounding. Now that Oz, the enemy, had surrendered, would her lover be safe? Or would she, his Excellency's right-hand woman, be held responsible?

So much uncertainty yet certainty; all assured that, if nothing else, they would live only threat they had the funds, the loved ones, and the will to survive.

One pilot watched silently, tears unable to fall, eyes dead, hands trembling. What would become of him now? Who could possibly want him? Where would he, could he go, now that he was no longer needed?

* * *

Authors Notes: Hiya, I dont know if anyone on here remembers me or not For those of you who do, however, I'm just here to explain what has happened with my fanfics;

None of them have been discontinued! Although not all have been updated or hosted yet on other sites, believe me, they will be!

I no longer like to use this site due to several reasons that I shall not go into. However, the adult counterpart now hosts a great part of my Harry Potter and Buffy Fanfiction But, their not-so-recent troubles since chaning hands have led me to seek out another new fanfiction home.

gundam - wing - universe . net (no spaces) will be the home of this fic & most of my newer work soon :)

Anyway, enough of that pointlessness. Off to post the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Only Time Can Tell

A Pilot: Part I

(Disclaimer: See title Page)

Violet-indigo orbs scanned the streets, searching, ignoring with practiced ease the majority of his surroundings whilst taking everything in; taking no note of the rundown, should be condemned buildings whilst still unconsciously knowing every dirt-strewn street, every hole-filled pathway, every safe, cobweb and mould hidey-hole along the way. Buildings that, had they been apart of any other colony or town on Earth, would have been condemned long ago, that, instead, served as shelter, as homes for the majority of the population of the sorry little colony.

Remains of the war were still painfully evident; craters left by misfired mobile suit blasts, chips and holes made in walls showing stray bullets that had never made it to their targets, the bullets themselves long ago pried from the walls by dirt-covered, grimy little hands and fingers calloused from practice, to be soled as scrap metal to try and earn a few credits from the numerous scrap yards and stores willing to buy them as scrap metal.

Children with eyes too old for their years, a haunted, damaged look radiating from their gaunt faces, eyes abyss-like, similar to mini black holes; giving one the impression that, if you were to look too long into their eyes, you would be lost forever in the darkness as they were.

Sly pickpockets and thieves, obvious to the trained eye, giving themselves away with their slightly too-relaxed, smooth stride. Eyes darting, never resting on one thing or one place too long, as though afraid to be caught out, slid easily through the crowds, leaving the majority of the small colonys poorer residents alone, instead targeting the few officials or obvious tourists, however scarce they were, trying to be mindful of their fellow streetrats and gutter-urchins, resorting to stealing from store owners and other, less savoury characters when need arises.

Confidant, cocky young-men-teenagers and men through to their late twenties seemed to swagger through the streets in small groups, some more confidant than others; most kept to their own territories, for the most part. It was only when the other residents of the filthy streets and alleyways noticed a group that they did not recognise that they had cause to worry, many having witnessed, or at the very least heard the horror stories of the gang warfare that had started up once again, the temporary lull caused by the war having ended the moment the fighting was over, the need for soldiers and 'organised' violence came to an end.

No elderly street-dwellers were present for obvious reasons, the majority of the colonys homeless population having an age expectancy depending on their roles; The Young, homeless children scavenging through the garbage and waste, if they survived the disease and ever present near-starvation levels of hunger, moving onto more dangerous ways of living as the amount of street children younger than them increased, causing the meagre food available from the garbage to be spread too-thin, too sparsely for them to survive on any longer.

Pickpockets tending to live to their late teens, loosing their edge the taller they grew, the haunted look, the sly look in their eyes giving them away, warning their marks off as their years in the profession grew, few lucky enough to become gang members, depending on if they had made the right contacts during their years of thievery, or if they had pissed off the wrong people.

Gang members themselves, typically not making it into their thirties, their late twenties if they were extremely lucky and skilled, if they held favour with one of the larger, higher-ranking gangs leaders or if they had the sense to stay out of the fighting whenever possible.

One profession however, topped the dangers faced by all others. Looked down upon, sneered at by thieves, looked upon with lusty, lecherous grins and leers by gang members, pitied by so many of the other forgotten members of society, so many of whom born and died on the same streets.

Haggard looks half-hidden under layer upon layer of make-up, when cash flow could allow. Tight, provocative clothing, obviously worn, stained and torn in every case, even the best not able to afford new, undamaged cloths. Tight jeans, scuffed boots and long, worn-thin trench coats were worn by many, few choosing to wear open shirts, most, despite the biting cold caused by the colony's malfunctioning climate control system, opting out of wearing a shirt at all, seeing no point in wasting the money on such things. Street-walkers; leaning against buildings and lamp-posts, near the bars and sorry-excuses for clubs the run-down colony had to offer, on the border of the poorest of the districts, close to the outskirts of the 'richer' part of the colony, where their services were mainly required, besides a labyrinth of darkened back alleyways and streets allowing quick, easy service, saving them time and thereby money, allowing them to get back to work all the sooner.

By far the most competitive and dangerous of the few career options available to those unlucky enough to end up in that sorry excuse for a Colony, it was, however, one of the better Career options open to attractive young women, and men. Women tended not to last as long on the streets in general, lasting an even shorter period of time working as a prostitute. Most started young; those who started before their teens often running out of business before they hit fifteen, becoming too old for the few paedophiles willing to pay for their pleasure, becoming too boring, to familiar for many of the districts regular visitors.

Those who started in there teens lasted slightly longer, as long as they remembered to avoid certain kinks; an assured way to get ones self killed being to fall in with a BDSM crowed or any particularly sadistic customers-well, more sadistic than the average Jon at least. After all, who had ever hearted of a kind Jon?

An extremely rare few made it even further, into their late teens, or early twenties. They were the ones who were jaded; jaded enough to learn every possible trick to keep the johns coming back, to keep customers interested, and to keep up their appearances without showing their malice and hopelessness to those who could possibly be willing to pay for their services. They were the ones who weren't foolish enough to get involved with drugs or gangs, who steered clear of would-be pimps without angering them, without angering anyone if possible, who didn't get involved in anything. They were the ones who looked out for themselves and no others; not their fellow prostitutes, not those who lived on the streets that they worked, and especially not for the children who few were guilted into taking care of or at least, giving some of what they earned to.

Due to the war, the majority of the old Street walkers had 'vanished', though most residents of the old colony need not expand on what that meant.

Most of them were now war-orphans of some sort, either stuck on the colony after their parents' deaths, or forced from their homes, either by uncaring soldiers or by equally thoughtless landlords unwilling to wait for their rent just because their parents had been killed or arrested.

He didn't stand out, not in the least; well, not in a way that was dangerous, certainly, nor in a way that could attract too-much unwanted attention. No, he had just enough charm and mystery surrounding him to draw in the customers-just enough customers, without causing his fellow whores to become jealous or angry.

Once brilliant, shining eyes darkened, hidden in shadows. Long, chestnut hair, still in it's customary braid, now filthy, greasy and matted in places, snaked around his body, almost reaching down to his knees, drawing in the customers who liked their whores to be slightly more feminine, girlish, and pretty. He had a haunted, gaunt look about him, as though he had missed one to many meals three times over. His cloths, just like any other, were ragged, near-on thread bear, worn thin from years of non-stop use.

Tight black jeans clung to his legs like a second skin, holes and frayed marks tactfully made to look alluring rather than simply scruffy, inviting the not-so-casual observer to come over and pay to take a look, a taste. Scuffed black doc martins encased his feet, fitting him quite well, unusual for any inhabitant of the half-destroyed colony. A loose, open black shirt showed of his pale, slightly muscled torso, black trench coat over that, nails painted black. No sign remained of the once ever-present silver cross.

HE let out a small, tired sigh, leaning back, angling his hips just so, as a potential customer caught his eye.

A man, in his early thirties; obviously some form of burocrat or office worker if his attire was anything to go by. Slightly nervous hazel eyes met his; the obvious fear present in first-timers not present in the dark orbs, but the confidence, the cock attitude in long-time users missing, showing him that he was obviously fairly new to this, and still slightly fearful of getting caught; not that any such risk was run in this neighbourhood at least.

He allowed a small, sultry smile to play on his lips, looking meaningfully at a nearby darkened alleyway-his alleyway, as the other hookers knew to keep to their own when He was out working for the night, before turning toward it, swaying into the darkness, allowing a small, triumphant smirk to flit across his face, followed quickly by a look of disgust and self-loathing as he heard the tapping of the businessman's shoes behind him, as he hurried to follow, before returning once again to the sultry mask, preparing himself for what was to come.

Authors Notes:

fangirl squeals One of my fav fanfic authors from this site reviewed I Actually got two reviews for the first chapter! Thank-you both so much Yes, this will be Duo-centric. I will try to update regularly.

Hm... 87 hits in one day...two reviews... Okay, how about if we try for another two reviews before an update? (hey, a girl can hope -)


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